On Saturday I did a weights session followed by a long-ish, fast-ish run, and as a result my hamstrings (thank you straight-leg deadlifts), lats and rhomboids (thanks pullups), and pecs (thanks pushups) have been fucked up all week. Not injured, just tight and sore. I am not flexible to begin with, especially not in my neck and shoulders. I have that rounded-forward shoulder, winged scapulae thing. Kyphosis? Typhoid? Whatever it's called. I try to care, but I really, really, really don't. Nothing you can say can change my mind about that, so quit interrupting. I'm trying to tell a story.So I go to yoga this morning to try to address the aforementioned problems in my back, chest, and legs. I do not enjoy yoga, I go because it is good for me. I also do not like the teacher. She is one of those people who fancies herself a serious triathlete, but skips 90% of her workouts. And yet she still makes excuses, like we care, or that we haven't noticed when she never shows up to swimming. When she comes to swimming, she will sit out 50 yards out of every 100 to catch her breath, but she refuses to move down to the slow lane. She loves to talk about the marathon she ran (I think it was Chicago in something like 1855), but I have heard her speak of ONE actual run that she's gone on in the year I've been going to her class. After that ONE run, she complained of being sore for a week.
But she thinks she knows everything there is to know about anything. After I ran the Boston Marathon she asked me what my time was. I told her it was just under 4:15. "What was your time?" asked one of the swimmers in the class, Susan. We like Susan, she just hadn't heard me. The World's Most Knowledgeable Yoga teacher answered for me, "4:50, anything under 5 hours is good." I didn't run a 4:50!!!!! But for some reason I didn't correct her. It seemed like it would be rude, since she does know everything after all. But it annoyed me.
I must have told her in February or March that I was training for an ironman. "You mean a half ironman?" she asked. Noooo, why would I say 'ironman' when I meant half ironman. Either you think I'm stupid or you think I'm a liar. I don't appreciate either one. Then, some time in the spring she asked me again if I was training for anything. "My big race is my ironman in August," I said. "Is it a half ironman?" she asked. Noooooo, it's STILL a full ironman. Before I left for California at the end of July she asked me what I was going for. "My ironman," I said. "Oh, is it a half ironman?" Noooooo, still a full fucking ironman! Once I can understand, maybe she just didn't hear me. But three times?!
And she says the names of stuff wrong. Granted, she's French, and I of all people shouldn't be criticizing anyone of knot knowing obscure plurals and rare eccentricities of one's second language, but she makes these mistakes in every class, and in every class they annoy me, second language or not. She calls vertebrae (plural of vertebra) "vertebras." She calls scapulae (plural of scapula) "scapulas." She calls your pelvis (noun) your "pelvic." She uses "foot" for both singular and plural, same with "shoulder" and "buttocks." And she calls your plantar fascia your "plantar fasciitis," as in "We are going to stretch your plantar fasciitis." If you don't know, plantar fasciitis is inflamation of the plantar fasciia. You cannot stretch inflamation.So today, as I mentioned, I was stiff and sore. I'm not usually a very flexible person, but today I was in especially rough shape. That's why I go to yoga! We're warming up, doing our breathing thing (I have to cheat, I don't know how other people can breathe in for 15 straight seconds without suffocating), when she comes up behind me and tries to roll my shoulders back. I have the forward-rolling shoulder problem, I know. I don't care. I usually let her roll them back and I hold them as best I can. But today the woman was trying to break some bones. I was trying to be zen about it and ignore her, letting her reshape me without affecting my chi. You know, flowing with the river... But then she whispers, "You want to roll them back a little farther." At this point it feels like the points of my scapulae are about to puncture my lungs, and I physically CANNOT move my shoulders back any farther. "That's as far back as they'll go!" I whisper, and she goes back to the front of the room.
Then she comes back to correct me on pretty much every pose for the rest of the day. She corrects me more than the new people I have to either side of me: the woman who is twisting in complete WRONG direction, and the man who is doing the ocean breath so loud that I swear they can hear him all the way up on the Death Star. I know I'm not the best yogi out there, but I'm sure my form is better than some of the 50-year-old runner guys in the class. "Claire, keep that leg straight. Claire, flex your foot. Claire, you want to rotate your hip out more..." But when she asked about my jacket, I knew she was picking on me. See, it was 6ยบ when I pulled in to the Y parking lot this morning. So I was wearing this warm, old, ratty fleece. I'm one of those people who's always cold, and I was still wearing my warm, ratty fleece halfway through class, because it's not like we were running or anything. I was cold. She came over and said, "Aren't you too warm in that fleece?""Not yet," I said. What the fuck?! Like I wouldn't be able to tell if I were too warm. Just because she's menopausal and suffering from hot flashes doesn't mean that we all are. This is yoga class, not tea in her living room. Let me zone out and feel my body dammit! Quit distracting me.
But I wasn't pissed off yet. This is just the typical yoga annoyances that I put up with every week. I'm zen, I can deal with it. This is why I do yoga, to stretch and calm down. Then, after class I sprayed down my mat, put my stuff away, and was putting my shoes back on outside the yoga studio. "Claire," said the World's Most Knowledgeable Yoga Instructor, leaning out the door. "Have you been stretching after your biking and running?""No," I said, because it was the answer she was waiting for. In fact I do stretch... a bit. Probably every other run I'll be feeling tight and stretch for less than 5 minutes. You know, touch my toes, stretch out my calves on a stair, stand with my foot on my butt... I'm not one of the people who starts wiping down their bike in spin classes before the stretching is over. But I'm usually too cold/tired/sweaty/hungry to stay touching my toes for 20 minutes after every workout. That's why I go to yoga! And anyway, aren't modern exercise trends moving away from static stretching?
"Well you really should be stretching after you work out," the World's Most Knowledgeable Yoga Instructor told me, like I'd asked her opinion. "That's why you're so tight. Just for a few minutes before, and then more afterwards."
She CAME OUT OF THE CLASSROOM to tell me this. This is why I go to yoga!!!!! And yes, I was tight today, but it was from fucking myself up lifting too much weight. That's. why. I. come. to. her. class. at 5:30. in. the. morning. EVERY. WEEK! I come to yoga to STRETCH, you blockhead!
